Tag: mental illness

one highlight on this bleary day

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression

So, in case you didn’t know, there is a bug in Internet Explorer browser that might lead you to hacking by assholes. So I have been using Chrome for all my online activity. It is kind of a pain because I am used to having two browsers open and I can check my two MSN accounts simultaneously. Now I cannot do so. I have to sign out of one to get to the other or use my phone for my email. Bugger. I hope that Microsoft fixes this soon because I really like using my laptop for email than my phone.

Went to the doc today because I think I have a UTI (Urinary Tract Infection). I have a trace of it so they won’t treat me until the culture comes back on Monday. Fucking great. I am just supposed to drink cranberry juice while my bladder is having spasms. Just great. And I am leaking when it spazzes so this is just so fucking wonderful. And, the best part, is that of course my doc is on vacation! EVERY single time I need him for something, he is on vacation. I should have just said the hell with going but I feel so miserable and I know I don’t feel right. I am just so pissed I wasted my time today. I emailed my psychiatrist, who I see tomorrow, to let her know. Course seeing her tomorrow is also going to be a waste of time. I don’t know why I bother see her. She isn’t going to have the magic answer to cure me of my depression. She might help with my mood a little bit by seeing her but when I leave it will go too. I am just do depressed I don’t want to do a damn thing. And tomorrow is an early appointment. Which means, I got to get up earlier than usual and get out of the house. Just great.

I had my iced coffee today. It was the highlight of this bleary day. I really enjoyed it. Long as there was one thing today that made me happy even though the rest of the day sucked.

Black hole of depression

by Midnight Demon, posted in chronic physical pain, depression

I have been meaning to see my PCP for the past few days because I think I might have a UTI. Today it was on my mind but I never made the call. I will try again tomorrow. I just don’t want to deal with an idiot and my doc knows the situation I am in so I know he will understand more than one of his colleagues. Trouble is, I don’t know if I can see him. He might not be available and then I will be screwed. I have an appointment with him next week but I fear the longer I wait, the worse I will get. I am already starting to feel really crappy. No fevers or anything but just run down. I hate dealing with this. And then if it is not a UTI, I am going to wonder if my back is starting to go. That is my huge fear.

I still am in a hopeless depression. I swear it gets worse with each passing day. I am just so tired of fighting it all the time. Why can’t I just sleep and not wake up until it passes? Or just not wake up at all. That would be my ideal plan. I just feel like I am stuck in a black hole of some kind that is sucking all the hope from me. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, it never works. I feel so useless.

I had a few arguments with my therapist today. I told her that I hate her. I didn’t want to see her anymore and that next week would be our last session. All got ignored. She didn’t like the idea of quitting while I was in the throws of another suicidal depression, so she is not going to let me go. She is such a bitch. I don’t know how many times I told her I hated her. But she just ignored me. That made me even more mad. I told her I didn’t want to talk. We agreed that we will meet once next week. I hope she keeps that. Sometimes she will say something like that but then “forget” and call me. She still wants me to go out there to sign her book. I haven’t figured out when I am going to do this. If I had the money for gas, it would be no problem. I would just borrow my sister’s car and go out there. But I am broke and what money I have left I have to save to ship out my books to the UK. I told my therapist I would text her like crazy and she is ok with that. She is a weirdo.

My psych answered my email that I sent at like 2-3 in the morning. She wanted to see if I saw my PCP. I told her I slept late and didn’t call. I then asked if she had any magic pills as my pills suck but she hasn’t responded. I also told her I am in a black hole, that I am beyond hopeless. I don’t want to go on with treatment anymore. What is the point? My therapist said that if I stopped my meds, I would be worse. Probably. I just hate being so down and tired all the time.

Tomorrow I need to cancel one appointment and make another. Go to the post office and ship my book to the UK. Then, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t feel like going for coffee. I don’t feel like writing. I just want to stay in bed and do nothing. Today I did a lot as I was waiting for UPS to deliver my books so I was going up and down the stairs constantly. My ankle is not happy with me right now and probably won’t be the rest of the night. Oh well. I just need to clear off a shelf on my bookcase to put the books in.

stupidly depressed

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression

Despite feeling like shit, I forced myself to go out with friends tonight. It was good but now I am very exhausted and not looking forward to tomorrow’s appointment with dear old dad. If I liked his doc, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but I just don’t like him. He rushes through everything and doesn’t leave you time to ask questions about things.

I know the depression is getting worse. Today I was writing with the same pen I always use and it felt heavy. Like suddenly it gained twenty pounds and I couldn’t hold it in my hand. It was so hard to grasp. It almost made me cry but I was in a very public place so I sucked it up. I really NEVER felt like that before. How can a pen suddenly feel heavy? Easy when you have a depression that makes you exhausted. I feel like emailing my psychiatrist but what is she going to do? I will page her tomorrow, or try to. I think I need to be back on an anti-depressant. Maybe remeron or something. Just to get me over this hump that I am in. Maybe it will help decrease the constant suicidal press that I feel.

I emailed my writing friend for some spiritual help with my dad. I am not a praying person but she is so I asked her if she would say a prayer for him. I know he will never be 100% again but if his swelling goes down, I will be grateful. I know one prayer might not work but at least if I have some one that cares about him, maybe it will work. If that is how things go. It’s hard for me to pray because I never go to church anymore, unless it is a wedding or a funeral. And the last time I was there, for my aunt who passed, I was too overcome with emotion to really pray for anybody.

I don’t know how I seemed to have “slipped” into this depression. I could blame the Sox as they have sucked most of the season already but that is too easy. I just feel really down and I don’t care about a lot of stuff that I used to. I have a lot of things weighing on my mind, mostly financial things and how to afford my medication this month. I still have a month before I am on state care. But I haven’t even applied yet. I have been too lazy to think about it and it bothers me that I “forget” because this is so important.

I feel so bogged down in things. I don’t shower regularly. I don’t brush my teeth regularly. I don’t leave my room unless the house is on fire. I must stay in my room 20 hours a day, some for sleeping, most for doing stuff on the laptop or reading a book or writing. But none of that stuff interests me anymore. I have a new journal that I want to start writing in but I haven’t. I started a new book but I am getting frustrated with it because it keeps going back and forth with time. First it is in the 1840s then it’s 1860 and then back to the 40s. WTH. Move forward or don’t move at all. I know somewhere in there Abraham Lincoln becomes nominated for president, but they haven’t mentioned this at all and that is frustrating me! So I think I need to read another book. But what? I also need to write in my co-authored book but I have no mind for that while I am in this depression. I can barely keep up with my blogs. It is just that everything is overwhelming me. I just don’t know what to do anymore, what to do with myself anymore. I used to have a routine. I would have therapy and then I would shower and get dressed and then go to Starbucks for my coffee. Or I would just get dressed and head to Starbucks. Now I don’t even do that anymore. I shower just twice a week, if that. And that is, if I feel like it. Most times I don’t, so I procrastinate another damn day. Then I stink more.

And I don’t know what is going on with my bladder. I think I have an infection and I should get checked out but I just can’t be bothered. Every time I want to call the doc, it’s after 5. Or it’s the weekend. I wish they could just call in a prescription over the phone so I don’t have to be seen but of course you have to pee in a cup to see if you do have an infection. Maybe that is driving me a little whacky. And the fact that it has been three days already and I still have not called in my refill for my blood pressure pill. More pressure for me to call because I am almost out of my meds. But I forget. I get distracted too easily. I really was going to call today but I was too lazy to look up the phone number of the pharmacy on the bottle. Yes, I was on the computer and could have googled the number. Why didn’t I think of that before?? I am stupid. Stupidly depressed. This is what depression is like. All your worries you think of but you are too strangled to make the phone calls you need to make or go to the stupid UPS store and get forms filled out so you don’t have to worry about your student loans anymore. But no, you just walk by the store, “forgetting” until you are at home again. Gosh I am such an idiot. I really need to buy a printer. I am going to save up for one. I don’t know how, but that is what I am going to do, if I remember to do it…

Don’t Feel Like Talking

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, suicide attempt

Don’t feel like Talking

I have been reviewing in my mind the last few suicide “mini” attempts that I took over the past several months. I am wondering why I never called for help or called a friend. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a number for a friend I couldn’t call or a helpline or a chat person. I just was constricted into one way of thinking. I needed to escape and that was going to happen. It was my “only” way out. I think I slipped into Mr. Hyde and ran away from help. I couldn’t possibly think that someone would understand the amount of pain that I was in or understand that ending my life was the only way out of the mess that I was in. And it wasn’t truly a “mess”. I just wanted an out that I could count on.

My last attempt was last week. I wrote a blog about it and then fell asleep. While I slept off my drugs, at least three bloggers tried to get in touch with me through various ways. One of them found my personal email, which I am still wondering how in the world they got. I am glad I don’t have my cell phone listed anywhere or it probably would have been traced back to me. But since that happened, I have been scared to write. Scared because I don’t want the police showing up at my door. I have had that happen before and it wasn’t a pretty picture. It was terrible because even though I was in “protective custody” through EMS (the paramedics had already showed up and taken me to the hospital), the police and fire department didn’t know that so broke a window to get into my house. I was freaked out when I heard about this. My family was wicked worried about me. And that was all because I wrote an email to my psychiatrist. My writing has gotten me into trouble. So now I am scared that it will again. I have dissociative episodes. I barely remember sending the blog that night. I don’t even remember what I said, other than taking pills.

I don’t want to stop blogging. It has been a lifeline for me. But I also realize that I need to be more aware of my thoughts and feelings to stop the hurt before I take something lethal. Luckily, I only took a few pills. I didn’t take a bottle. But the question remains, why didn’t I feel like talking to someone before I took them??

I know of suicide prevention. I know of suicide assessments. So why didn’t I use them? I am not beating myself up here. I am just trying to understand what went on inside my head so that I can do something the next time this happens. All that I come up with is that I didn’t want to go to the hospital again. If I paged my psych and told her I wanted to take my life, I don’t think she would let me off the phone unless I had a plan with her to go to the ER. So that option is out. Luckily, through this recent episode, I found a fellow survivor that I can email. I hope that I can email her and talk freely about what I am feeling and what I want to do. That is if I feel like talking. That is the key…talking. To know one’s story. I feel like such a hypocrite because I wrote a book, published it, and then tried to take my life afterwards. Some survivor I am. I am totally unstable and I don’t think I will ever be stable. I told my therapist today, that if I had the chance, I would try again. I am just tired of living. SO DAMNED TIRED. I have nothing keeping me here. My protective factors are minimal. I don’t even know if they exist anymore. I mean, I love my family a little bit but I don’t feel connected to them in anyway. I just feel like I am this stranger that comes out of my room and says hi every now and then. I hardly go out anymore. My life is meaningless.

My therapist is so excited about my book that she doesn’t even want to read my blog anymore. Though my blog readership has hit an all time high lately. I should be proud of that. But I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything. I am not interested in anything. I got my journal of Suicide and Life threatening behavior today and it didn’t even excite me. One of my favorite suicidologists wrote a paper in it. I should have been all over it but I wasn’t. I had no interest in what the article was about. I am too depressed to care about anything. And I don’t even talk to my therapist anymore. All she wants to talk about it my fricken book. I am done talking about my book. It just depresses me. And I don’t know why. I should be on cloud nine right now but I am not. Maybe I should go back on an anti-depressant. But I am so sensitive to them, they just make me sick. I hate this anhedonia I have been feeling. I hate that worse than the psychache that I have been feeling. I mean, how many times can your heart break and nobody know? Because depression is an invisible illness. No one sees it. No one else feels it. It’s all inside you. And no one feels like talking about it.